She Has The Eyes Of An Angel
And A Heart Like A Traitor

And A Gun With A Trigger
{{In Her Hand Pointed At Her}}

Everyone has a reason to live, right? Well, some people have a reason to kill. To vandalize. Certainly, some have no reasons. Some have been corrupted so badly, their only meaning is to destroy. They see nothing other than the not-so-distant future of blood in their hands. Even some love to cause corruption in others. Like a vampire, they like to pass on every ounce of themselves to others. Sharing is caring, right? On another note, these who corrupt for no reason give others a reason to be good. Without evil, good would not exist. Therefore, the whole existence of everyone would never have been thought of.

Sometimes, people are so messed up, they hurt those who have never even seen evil. Like the young man lost in the hotel. Now lost in her hotel room. Crying. Well, he would have been crying, if he wasn’t tied up by the mouth. He was tied around the mouth and to the bedposts. Tears rolled down his cheeks. It had been hours since she had gotten him there, and you know… “Went to town” all over him. He was covered head to toe in bruises. And cuts.

She now took the pleasure of squeezing a few open wounds around him. He was bawling his eyes out, with shrunken pupils. Circe didn’t like waking up with people in her bed, so she got rid of them. How? Kill them, of course. Ha. She made a few incisions around his collar bone and rib cage. The ribs were the worst, she believed. It seemed so, since he was shaking from pain. He seemed fine earlier. Damn humans. This one barely had a name, from what she knew. Circe closed in on his face. He flinched from her.

In the reflection of his dark eyes were her own. Circe’s eyes were snow white. It was frightening. She kissed his forehead while pressing her point at the end of her whip into his very fragile neck. It bled down into the sheets. Finally, she cut all the way through. He coughed for breath. Humans were so silly when they had nervous breakdowns. Dying so incredibly ungraceful was hilarious. Circe laughed. Not an evil laugh, either. One that proved she honestly found this to be hilarious. She couldn’t deny her love for gore. What demon could?

Then, he was dead. Finally. She untied his bleeding wrists and ankles. Where to put him… Circe walked to her hotel door, and stuck her head out. No maids to be seen… Since it was so old fashioned, she was sure security cameras wouldn’t notice. She ran back to him, and dressed him back in his clothes. Shoes and all. Then she stood him up. Circe had the strength to hold him even if he was taller than her. She pulled out his card. He was originally from the room across from her own. She dragged him out. It looked like he was lazily walking through. Maybe he had been really drunk?

Then, she opened his door for him, and led him inside. Circe shut the door behind her, and ran him to the bed. She shoved him under the covers. He’d be fine there, she was sure. Then, she turned him so he was lying on his belly. It looked like he was sleeping. Discovering the body would take a few days. By then, she’d be long gone. Murder was easy for girls. They hardly ever got caught. Men were just stupid. She left his room, and returned to her own. As for the sheets… She folded them up, and stuffed them in the closet to be dealt with later. Circe took the blindfold, and wrapped it back on her head. Everything was dark now. The only reason she put it back on was because her eyes burned after a certain amount of time. Which is why she worked fast.

It was time for her to have fun anyways. She left the room, and headed down the elevator to the bottom floor. There was a huge room she was sure was used for big events like government meetings or high school prom. It was completely empty as of now. Except for the stage, and the bar. There were no tables or chairs. She couldn't see that, though. Circe jumped onto the stage once she found it.

There was a violin she managed to get a hold of. In stead of wearing her normal very short dress and purple blindfold, she was dressed in black, with a black blindfold. Very formal for a slut, right? Circe couldn't play as well as she could with the cello, but she knew Irish music rather well. It was amateur, but she was playing. Only for a little while. Until she forgot the rest of the notes, and stopped. She laughed and said to herself," I'm too old to remember. How sad."

One Tough Act To Follow

Grrrrrrr...

For the love of all that was holy, why did it seem that smell lingered around him all the time? He could smell it from his room. The stench that probably clung to his very figure. The odor that followed him around like his very shadow did. The smell of blood. The smell of death. After a few thousand years and then some, it got a little tiresome, granted it did smell lovely to his sense of smell but still very tiresome. The strong stench awoke him from his slumber. That and the nightmare he was beginning to have. Same dream. What a bore. He let out a sigh. He'd been having a few dreams recently, one that sometimes repeatedly like a broken record but that's besides the point. He didn't want to sleep now. He needed a drink.

Sitting up from his bed, finding his palm rubbing against his face. His vision blurred for a moment before it refocused. In his surroundings was a...Well, a hotel room. Bah. Why was he here again? Probably just to sleep he guessed. Throwing his legs off the side of the bed, he leaned forward looking to the ground as if it had answers. He let out another sigh before chuckling, closing his eye and shaking his head.I'm losing it. The Seraph rose to his feet slowly grabbing a loose black jacket, guessing it must of belonged to him. Wearing a loose pair of navy blue pants and simple white shirt, he threw on the black jacket as he headed for the door. He did need a drink. A strong one.

As he found himself in the corridor, he groaned. It reeked of blood. How could people not notice this? Holding his nose for a second he strolled down the narrow tube-like hallway. Where was that damn bar? As he found his way to staircases, he felt his feet make it's way automatically to the ones that headed downwards. As he reached ground floor, he rubbed his head walking towards an open room, a figure in the way of it leaning against the wall. A small figure may it be said. He lightly bumped into the small creature, as his lips opened to speak all that left was a growl. Damn living creatures.

As he found himself in the open room, he could hear violins. Nice music. Not exactly his taste though. He headed automatically to the bar. Seeing the human brute behind it, Zeik raised his head to look at him. "My god, man. You look run down." The barman crowed. Zeik growled in response "I feel it. Strongest drink you got." He said, chuckling at the barman. The barman chuckled along with, soon placing a small glass in front of the Seraph filling it, at what seemed like, a slow pace with the unknown liquid. He snarled quietly, rubbing his head. "Cheers." The rundown daemon muttered as he took the glass and took it to his lips.

Nice way to begin the day, Zeik.

And Beato growled--er, well almost snarled, actually--back at the jerk who thumped into her, knocking the small frame off its comfortable position against the wall. It wasn't so much the light bump that left a nasty taste in the impish daemon's mouth, but rather, the attitude of the guy who bumped her. She didn't like it. It clashed too much with her own.

And now that she thought about it...

The guy's hair looked familiar. That kinda long hair for a guy...the attitude similar to that of a downright asshole was also--what the f*ck, THAT WAS THE GUY WHO KILLED THE GUY SHE WAS ASSIGNED TO KILL.

And all of a sudden, Beato's annoyed glare became an irate scowl. Bad luck that she would see that....that....dipshits.o.b again. Well. No point in bothering about it now. She wasn't a stupid human brat; she was a daemon seraph with more important things to do than--

Tap, tap, tap, tap were the noises of boots clicking against the floor, drowned out by the violin. She was only going to ask for some water from the bartender, then head back to her hotel room. Otherwise, Dante might get pissed or whiny and go on a night-long rant--with the majority of it being silent.

As the small daemon neared and neared, her fiery red eyes focused on the bastard in front of her while her mind--the pacifistic portion of it anyway--focused on retarded questions such as did I leave the game on? What time is it? and eventually....

she was right behind him. A small hand was raised, almost as though she was going to tap the boy gently, ask him to buy her a drink. You know, because Beatrice was better than that and the look in her eyes could have easily been mistaken for some kind of grudging amicability.

Except, she was cranky and the look in her eyes was that of I'm gonna beat the crap outta ya. Her pale hand clenched into a fist and, as if in one swift movement, was pulled back and sent flying upwards across the other daemon's head. That jerk! And just when the singing began....Betrice almost felt regret for not hitting harder. And if he managed to dodge that, then this she-daemon was going to f*cking rampage.